Standing Still
by Coriana
Summary: On a ship returning to Skyrim from Solstheim, Bishop has a chance encounter with the Dragonborn. / Submission to the June Writing Competition for SRM.


**Standing Still**

 **WC** : 2,920

 **Summary:** On a ship returning to Skyrim from Solstheim, Bishop has a chance encounter with the Dragonborn. / Submission to the June Writing Competition for SRM.

 **Prompt:** Meeting Bishop for the first time. Between 2000 to 3000 words.

 _Notes_ : Sorry to any followers that might be shocked by something like this. xD Yes, I play games in my spare time… This is currently a oneshot, but I'll leave it open ended just in case I want to expand.

I didn't win but I gave it my best shot!

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The _Northern Maiden_ was a cargo ship of the East Empire Trading Company that sailed between Windhelm's port and Solstheim's. For the right sum, it wasn't completely unusual for her to take passengers along. Her captain, Gjalund Salt-Sage, would always scoff. Although they did pay to see a land of ash and Dunmer, so who was he to complain?

Currently, he was taking back two passengers at once to the docks of Windhelm. They had traveled with his ship to Solstheim at separate intervals, and happenchance brought them to come home at the same time.

One was the Dragonborn. She had traveled with him on many occasions over the years. She had been in Solstheim for a couple years at this point, and the captain had begun to wonder if she would ever return to Skyrim.

The other was a seedy ranger. The captain couldn't help but think he accidentally brought back an assassin in disguise. He would have to keep an eye on him.

The Dragonborn was at the front of the vessel, where she stayed during most of her journeys. Her eyes were clouded and troubled. He wondered if she had been instructed to come back to Skyrim. Even after all these years, she still had a reputation she had to uphold.

The scent of the sea was sharp – all brine and fish. The captain liked it that way. The cold from Solstheim only got more dense and weighty on the trip. As Windhelm's port came into view, the distant din of the bell could be heard.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the tall and dark ranger make his way to the Dragonborn in slow, sure strides.

Yes. That would certainly never work out.

...

Although this had not been the first time that Bishop had seen the Dragonborn in person, it would be the first time he would have direct conversation with her.

That time had been years ago by now, in a chance communication in Riverwood. He had been outside the door of the Sleeping Giant Inn, to escape the heat and noise. She had passed up the inn to, he assumed, sleep in the small Stormcloak encampment outside of the modest town.

Before she went by, she asked if he was guarding the door.

It was a weird question. He remembered just saying no, and to tell herself she wasn't as important as she thought.

He remembered her response clearly: "I'm not allowed to go in, because I've had a… sour friendship with the owners. I just wondered if they had taken it up a notch."

So the Dragonborn was one more person who allowed themselves to be bullied around… it made his chest tighten in annoyance.

She had left after that. She must have departed earlier than even him the next day, since she wasn't anywhere to be seen by the morning.

Perhaps he had been a little rougher than he needed to be, but he mostly blamed it on the fact that he had to track his wolf companion, Karnwyr, down after he had been swiped by trappers. He had been a little on edge as he wondered if he would make it there on time when it came to a pit of gambling, foolish pigs.

"The great Dragonborn actually pays for sea fare and doesn't fly around on her dragons?" Bishop said. The words tasted salty to his mouth, but perhaps it was just the sea spray.

Her sloe-eyed stare looked glassy with lack of recognition.

She didn't remember him. It was irritating to Bishop. He would have expected the Dragonborn to remember everything. Especially someone like him. It was like saying he didn't leave an impression on people.

Her hair was cut short and ruffled, and was the dark red of molten fire. It was different than she had it all those years ago, when it was long and gathered into a messy bun. It had been a lighter shade then, too.

"What are you staring at?" Bishop said, merely for the fact that he felt she was staring through him. "Don't act so surprised that I'm not bowing."

"People haven't bowed to the Dragonborn in a long time," she said with a small smile. "I never expect it anymore."

"But you _used_ to expect people to worship you and lick your boots I see."

"That was a long time ago," she said as she turned back to the sea. "The status sometimes goes to your head in certain circumstances."

Her voice was… uncanny. It was an eerie monotone of self-control. Smooth and even, yet ruptured and jagged. A heavy power held back by only a sheer film of sound.

Is this what happens when you practice the Way of the Voice?

It felt odd of her to turn her back towards him. Completely exposed, and yet untouchable. She didn't seem worried about a knife in her spine.

He had a bizarre inkling of uncertainty that even though he was this close, his dagger might not make it anyway.

"What are these circumstances you speak of?" Bishop asked, since she seemed content ignoring him.

"Hm? I suppose in the height of everything. When everyone is chanting your name, and you're expected at all the feasts, and your guidance is heeded by officials and Royals… your ego might tend to get bloated."

She wore dark pants, and a belt too big for her that draped heavily on her fine hips, which favored the side her sword hung from. She had on high leather boots, where cracks marred their surfaces. She was wearing a loose white shirt, which gaped at the neckline of her pleasant cleavage, and showed the smooth curve of her neck. Her skin was pale, which he assumed came from her Breton heritage.

"I guess you can't help being stuck up," Bishop said, "Being a Breton and all. You came all the way from Daggerfall?"

"Wayrest, actually."

"I would apologize for offending you by saying you were from Daggerfall, but I really don't care."

"It doesn't matter to me. I've been in Skyrim far too many years to still be concerned of the feuds from my ancestors. Breton politics are heavy and sly – Skyrim has been a very different change of pace in comparison." Her shoulders fell a bit as she thought. "Skyrim is more… blunt. Nords will boulder into anything."

"You shouldn't compare all of us to that dim-witted attitude. Some of us think before diving into battle. Some of us have brains."

Another smile. "You seem quite confident in your fighting capability."

"I've been hunting Giants by the age of ten. For fun. So I can say that I'm more than confident."

"Are you sure someone wasn't shooting them down behind your back?"

"You little wench…"

"I'm jesting. You seem to walk around with your bow with enough pride. I've never been one for archery, on the other hand."

"I didn't think that a Breton knew what a sword was. Not enough magic in your Manmeri blood to be a mage, ladyship?"

Without her small, knowing little smile ever slipping, she said, "Mockery to my heritage now? You're quite amusing. My father wanted me to be a mage. My mother wanted me to be a cook. I suppose neither of them got their wish."

"I have a hard time believing that Bretony is even your lineage. I've never seen a Breton with red hair before."

Her dark blue eyes blinked slowly. "You probably never will."

"Not your original color?"

"Maybe it isn't. Maybe it is. You never know."

"Fine, princess. Keep your secrets. Unless you want to spill the one of what's the great Dragonborn's name? That seems to be the best kept secret."

"My name..." she said, looking down, presumably lost deep in thought. As if she could possibly forget her own name.

Unless... she had.

"A long time ago, my friends used to call me Calandra, or… Calli. But now I'm the Dragonborn. But… I like princess. What's your name, ranger? Since we're sharing."

"Eh, I don't know. You offered it so freely, without a bargain. Perhaps your Breton wit has waned in all these years."

She laughed, and Bishop's stomach flopped.

"Nice loophole, ranger."

"Name's Bishop. Since you asked nicely. How long have you been in Skyrim, princess? It's a long journey from High Rock."

"A little over ten winters."

"When did you become the Dragonborn?"

She let her eyes falter, her voice akin to silk-encased steel. "Same time."

"I guess it's been a while since you've played hero. What are you doing with your time now?"

"It would probably make my parents happy to know that I've been studying with a wizard in Solstheim these last few years. And have learned to make a good cup of canis root tea, in the meantime. But I can't go back on paths I've taken. I can't go back to what they wanted me to be. Imagine that, saying that I should have listened to my parents…" She looked up and Bishop was staring right back. She gave a sheepish smile, innocence in her eyes from her statement. "I guess sometimes our parents do know better."

Bishop said nothing.

Calli continued, "Anyway. That was a long time ago. Nowadays, I'm left to wander and yet I'm still supposed to participate in councils for Skyrim. I'm waiting for when the time comes that I don't have much to live for, because I'll revoke my title. Or embrace it, depending on how you look at it."

"How would you do that?"

"I'll never be able to run from it. Except to the mountains. In the end, I'll finish my guidance with the Greybeards for the rest of my life. I'll perfect the Way of the Voice until I can speak to no one and nothing. I'll be left alone then. A life of solitude and meditation…. I have a lot to repent for."

Bishop folded his arms and let out a huff. "Life is too short to waste time being sorry for our actions. People never grow up until they realize that."

"Do you not have anything that you regret?"

Bishop wanted to turn his head to advert her stare, but he wouldn't allow himself to. "Maybe there are things that I would have done differently, but I would never squander away my life to repent for them. And a life of silence and sitting around doing nothing? Being trapped in a never-ending Dwemer maze would be more entertaining."

She was as hushed as the windswept shores. And just as powerful as the ocean beyond.

"Thank you," she said.

Bishop felt his face flush. He turned away.

"Yeah. Fine."

Her bangs shaded the intensity in her eyes. "I guess in the course of these years the Dragonborn is nothing more than tales now. A memory of a time when Alduin darkened the skies. I've just faded into the stories, until one day I will just be a part of the yarns and songs, too."

"I'd rather stab myself with my own arrow than be sung about in poetic verse… in the stupid Bard's College..."

"But is it not what everyone wanted in their younger days?"

"Nope. Not me. Anyone who sings in Skyrim just sound like drunken louts."

"I tend to agree with you. Skyrim is not as musically oriented as the Bretons are but at least they put their soul into it."

"A little too much of it, if you ask me. Are you saying the Bretons don't put their soul into it?"

Her gaze had returned to the sea again. Windhelm's docks were very close. He felt the urge from her of just wanting to jump into the icy water and forget.

"Bretons are passionate and lively," she said, "Cunning and devious. But maybe we're just liars, too. Perhaps it's the Elven blood in us."

The _Northern Maiden_ slowly slid into the dock, led by the captain's patient hand. Calli wrapped a dark red Dunmer shawl around her shoulders, and pulled on a cloak that had been at her feet.

Bishop watched as she applied her layers against the cold of Windhelm. Or against the peering of eyes. Her face had grown stiff and concerned with thoughts of her upcoming meetings. How could a person of this type of power be held so tightly by other's hands?

"Idiot," Bishop said softly. He tried to keep his tone calm, but there was anger rising in his throat. He hated people bowing to anyone. "Why don't you run away? Nothing keeps you beholden to anyone."

"I do leave," she said, "but they always seem to know where I am."

"I can show you some hiding places where they'll never find you."

She didn't take him up on his offer, which was a bit disappointing.

"Do you understand what it's like being the Dragonborn?" her voice had taken on a low key – dreary, even. Yet there was something behind the masquerade of the simple human words. A restrained warning that there would be no action without a penalty.

"You're obviously a controlled milksop that still expects people to fall to their knees in front of you, but no one will anymore. Just an ignorant sass that is too immature to know what an 'inconvenient' life is."

Bishop expected a flash of anger in her eyes. To rile her up and raise her voice. Anything to ruffle that snake oil appearance.

Instead, her face had gone blank. "People think of the Dragonborn as the spectacle that the name creates. They think of the festivities they attend, the people they know, the legends they've made. They don't think of the chaos they live. The people wouldn't want to know the dirty underbelly of any political game. They don't know how many times I've almost been poisoned or stabbed in my sleep. A savior to humanity? Maybe. But no one with too much power should be allowed to live for too long."

"You think you're that much of a danger to stuffed-shirt royalty, huh?"

She moved closer to him from the railing, now close enough that Bishop could see the freckles that splashed across her upper cheeks and bridge of her nose.

"I may be a protector of the people, but I'm also their enemy. I've been a guard to royalty. I've been a murderer to civilians. I've come to know information that is privy only to certain circles. The things you know about the Dragonborn are the things you've heard from songs, word of mouth, and assumptions. Do you understand now?"

Bishop had stiffened his stance. His eyes were narrowed and his frown was set in stone.

Somehow all of this seemed to be said without malice – mockery seemed a more appropriate word. It would appear that she had a sharp Breton tongue in that pretty mouth after all.

"I understand," Bishop said, "I understand that you're being used because you don't have the backbone to stand up to them. I'm sorry, princess, but no matter what type of sob story you have hidden behind that pretty face, you still allow them to use you. You still come when they call, sit when they tell you to, and growl if they command. Your story is not that special. Grow up."

At that moment, Bishop was sure that she would slap him.

She seemed shocked at herself that the notion was even considered.

There were a couple fluttered beats of silence. Bishop knew that the ship mates were watching.

"I guess you're right." Tired did not seem enough to describe her as of now. She seemed to have aged ten years. There was a tone of disgust in her voice. "The story of the Dragonborn title is nothing more than a pawn to royalty, a status to the military, and a paltry joke to humankind." She turned her face away, whether in shame or wariness, Bishop wasn't sure.

The air felt slow and weightless. Time stretched and snapped at once.

"Where are you headed?" she finally asked.

"Anywhere the deer trails guide me."

"How good are you at tracking?

"Even if it doesn't leave spoor, I can track it."

"Sounds useful."

Calli had reverted back to her steady, unperturbed posture. Her stare didn't waver. "I want to go with you for now."

"I thought you were supposed to report back. Going to stand up for yourself, ladyship?"

"Not right now," she said with downcast eyes. "I won't run from them, but I need more time to think. Even with all those years in Solstheim, I didn't accomplish what I had gone there to do."

"And that was what?"

"To come to terms with everything I've done in Skyrim," she said, her voice quiet. "Perhaps I need to learn to forgive myself while traveling her roads, instead of another's. Would you take me with you?"

She seemed demure enough, standing there asking. But there was a newfound fire in her eyes.

Bishop smirked as he hefted his bow and pack. "Travel with you and understand the _real_ story of the Dragonborn, huh? Maybe I'll take you up on that. But first we need to pick up a friend of mine. Also, you should know my speech to you isn't without repercussions. I live my words. You're not allowed to order me around."

"If that makes you happy, sir Bishop."

"There's more than that which you can do for me if you want to make me happy. Lead the way, princess."


End file.
